


yellow, almost goldenrod

by plinys



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 20:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14363298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: “You’ve got paint on your nose."





	yellow, almost goldenrod

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucylikestowrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucylikestowrite/gifts).



> just a little bit of soft fluff for lucy, cause friendship

This is progress.

That’s what Ava tells herself.

Even if it feels a little like a disaster.

Though then again, what hasn’t felt like a disaster lately.  Ever since she got  _ involved  _ with the Legends her life has been a series of disasters, intermixed with startling realizations about herself that Ava was still having trouble processing, but somehow they always managed to make it work for the better in the end.

Eventually.

Usually.

If she waited long enough, which at the moment meant redecorating Ava’s apartment.

“You’ve got paint on your nose, and on your cheek actually.” 

A project that Ava wasn’t entirely certain how she had gotten talked into agreeing to. Something about needing a fresh start, a place that felt her  _ own  _ and didn’t belong to the eleven other versions of her that had come before. Searching for a new apartment had seemed like too much effort, especially when most of the time Ava spent her nights aboard the Waverider, but this was a compromise. 

Progress, in a way. 

Slowly, but surely.

Sara grins back at her from the other side of Ava’s tarp covered living room, before purposely rubbing the back of her hand over the smear of paint on her face making it even worse. 

The paint was yellow, a bright,  almost goldenrod, that the paint company had felt inclined to call _cheerful_. Something which Ava had been more than skeptical of, until this exact moment, until Sara was smiling at her with the color that Ava had picked out because it had reminded her of Sara covering her cheeks, wearing nothing but a pair of paint stained overalls and a white bandeau. She’s beautiful. So beautiful that Ava wonders, for what seems like the hundredth time, how she got this lucky.

How she - out of all the other  _ Avas  _ in the universe - got lucky enough to be the woman that Sara smiled for?

To be the woman that could kiss her if she wanted to, and oh, does Ava very much want to. 

Especially, when Sara says with a voice that’s not even pretending not to be mischievous, “Better?”

Ava shakes her head. “Worse.”

The mischievous look only seems to grow as Sara says, “Come help me then.”

It's a weak excuse to get Ava to come closer, logically she knows that. An excuse that she takes. Putting down her paint roller, abandoning her position on the other side of the room, and crossing instead so that she is standing right in front of Sara.

Sara, who grins up at her, even as she threads her paint covered fingers through the belt loops of Ava’s jeans to tug her closer. 

Ava looks down as Sara’s thumb finds the space where her shirt has ridden up from her jeans. Running a splotch of yellow onto the bare skin there. 

“How are you this messy,” Ava asks her with a slight frown.

“I love you,” Sara replies. 

Like that's an answer.

Like that's a given fact.

Like that's something easy for her to say.

Like that doesn't cause Ava’s heart to skip a beat each time she does.

Ava can't say it back, not yet, she's not ready, but Sara doesn't push. At least, not for that.

Instead her thumb continues its journey, this time dipping below the line of Ava’s jeans, and Ava jolts back a little.

“Your hands are covered in paint,” she says, quickly in a rush, because if she doesn't stop Sara now while the logical part of her brain is in command, there will be no stopping her later. Especially not with the way Sara is pressed up against her, pretending that she is all sugar and sweet, like Ava can't see her intentions right beneath the surface.

Sara plays purposely oblivious. “I told you to put on clothes that you wouldn't mind getting ruined.”

Ava had. An old pair of jeans, worn down close enough to ripping because she'd had them for so long (or some version of her had), and a t-shirt from a university that she didn't actually go to, the blue bear across the front already having fallen victim to droplets of yellow paint. 

“But,” Sara continues. “We could always take them off if you're so worried.”

“It's not the clothes I’m worried about,” Ava insists. Normally she wouldn't object to an offer of sex, after all, if there was one thing Sara was good at, it was sex. But in this case… “It’s unsanitary.”

Sara laughs at that, open and unabashed, one of Ava’s favorite sounds. 

“Fuck, Aves, you're serious aren't you?”

“Of course I am,” Ava replies. “Your hands are covered in paint, you need to wash them before we do anything else.”

“How is that somehow the least and the  _ most  _ sexy thing you've ever said to me all at the same time?”

“I'm a woman of many talents,” Ava replies, in a tone of voice that makes it clear she's echoing a familiar statement of Sara’s.

“You are,” Sara insists, with a tone so genuine that it makes Ava’s chest tight. Sara has a way of doing this. Of saying things so easily and so casually. The sort of things that Ava could never say.

She kisses Sara instead of responding. Kisses her because she needs to. Needs to feel Sara against her, real and there and  _ hers _ , somehow after everything that they've been through, still here and still hers.

Kissing Sara is effortless, familiar in a way that makes Ava feel more than just fond now. Which is why she's not even surprised when Sara takes charge of their kiss, deepening it, one hand coming up to mess up Ava’s tightly done up hair, while the other helps her shift their positions such that a moment later Ava has her back to the wall, one of Sara’s legs between her own pressing up pointedly.

Ava let out a hiss that is both pleasure and frustration.

“The paint is still wet,” Ava points out, and when she reached back behind her to balance, her hand comes back yellow.

“You know what else is wet,” Sara replies with one of her half winks.

“You?”

“Me.”

Sara kisses her again. This time with more heat and passion, thrusting herself against Ava with purpose and -

“Fuck, Sara-”

“I’m trying.”

Somehow Ava manages to hold onto the rational part of her mind. Twisting her face away from Sara’s to break the kiss. Earning her an adorably frustrated look in return. 

“Ava.”

“It's unsanitary,” she says again, “You’re going to get paint everywhere.”

Sara’s little pout increases. “That’s what makes it sexy.” 

This time she can't help but laugh. “That is the opposite of sexy.”

“Aves-”

“You need to take a shower,” Ava insists, before correcting herself. “We both do.”

Sara just smirks at her in reply.

“You know what, I can work with that.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
